


gorgeous

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, future foundation canon, some classy pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: the future foundation hosts a dinner party and togami has never been hungrier.





	gorgeous

eating helps combat the apocalypse, surely.

"i swear, it was the biggest i'd ever seen! big fat bullfrog, right outside my window!"

that, too.

the tablecloth's chiffon lay timid down the full length, weaves shadows betwixt the shine of sunday shoes, trailed atop, oh silver sweet silver. and that full length, is it ever, enough to spread a slew of business guests through the host's dining room, but he'd been told _no business talk!_ so sternly he'd been tempted to ask the gall, takes it again now to watch her hand rest to the white cashmere arm straining at the dinner conversation. eyes, kind sweet tea green, rest to those of their highest superior's thin, whilst togami himself feels more akin to the one seated to munakata's second side, the meat brained type to throw fists before words that's left him blanking on a name; though the fist now only quakes round a shoveling spoon of miso as his whole being rests compact to the exchange beside him. togami must wonder what it would take to spark a throttle fest. at the very least, it'd liven up the evening. not that he doesn't so _love_ having a clowder of his associates stuffed in his dining room after yukizome and asahina had shrilled over an idea for some sort of fun time (he doesn't), but only for so long can he listen to hagakure recount all the slimy reptiles he's encountered the past year.

rarely is he thankful to have his nose drawn downward by attention span diverting, but the way the fork tongs prod so clueless to his right is enough to call him charmed.

"um, this is french?" naegi mumbles to him, once that span is his own, once there's no one listening in on his messy little voice that shies the constant away from spotlight (just the same as their trio's finisher sipping oolong to quiet herself, and always they're both quick as wit to grasp his either elbow in the face of danger). togami blinks, nods, offers all the delicate refined, "quiche au saumon et crevettes."

naegi blinks, nods, offers only outward the knowledge he's not the slightest what he's just heard though still tests a nibble in his gung ho signature, just so predictably enchanting the pinch his face adopts to the foreignness.

"it's shrimp, you love shrimp," he tells him if only to mortify the picky picky eater at his core. and he proves the defender; "not all...mushed up. is that cheese? hmm..."

togami's eyes roll the same as the ice in his whiskey on a lift to the lips. "my apologies, i'll have the chef prepare you our finest bowl of cocoa puffs instead."

" _please_ ," husks through his teeth, then he's laughing to himself, to them both, points longways over kirigiri to ask her pretty to pass the dish of white rice. togami spins a spoon idly through tart onion soup.

he's said it before more than likely, and though he hates to reiterate, he loves to be heard; celebrations in a time like this are a slap in the goddamned face. what's to hoorah over, certainly not the smoke across the skyline, deaths of the weaker at every turn. at the very least, it's classy this way, coworkers crowded together for dinner and _no_ talk of the fact that they're coworkers who work together at work. time carries them to standing, steps littering now along his very own carpeting. it'd been that yukizome chisa again who'd dangled the idea to migrate away from the table. felt too formal, she'd said, and he'd wanted to clip back that he hopes she'll be staying behind to spritz her housekeeper's glory along the dishes, but naegi is laughing at something hagakure is spewing to them both, so he thinks he ought to at least pretend to listen.

where he stands, tall lean proud arms folded eyes narrow ( _breath_ ) and handsome, he watches onward, where naegi stands just a brush away short soft _welcoming_ , so near to pricking him in melt. hardly is he so audacious now as he had proclaimed, not in any time the past forever he's spent with naegi makoto in which he _thinks_ too thickly on him. and god, pure sordid teen romance drama _god_ , togami doesn't dare to meet his glance up.

naegi says something. says it, just says it. and togami is striding off without catching a flick.

there doesn't live so many as to suffocate him in skirting through them, random hes and shes from across the office that hardly has he ever cared to chatter with, proves it in his stroll magnetizing over to kirigiri kyouko's lingering stance. she glances his way, though he's enthralled enough by the conversation being held around her. asahina babbles her rambunctious spirit outward to a pencil skirted guest, and he can't tell her from any other harlot presuming she's rare to ever trail from her section of the office. asahina gabs some bullshit on hair detangling spray. pencil skirt murmurs behind her mask, though a certain mirth tints her iris.

"given up, i see," kirigiri entices him with, tunes out the foolery to that of a brand new. his neck cranes to tower in freshened dominance.

"not ever," togami promises, then says to her, "there must first exist something for it to lose one's faith."

"mhm." lashes pad her cheekbones. "it was your idea to use your house as tonight's venue, correct?"

"hey, togami." sunset surrounds the skin to skin of a hand on his now, tugs him crooked for their match, kirigiri and her devil's advocate disorder discarded. "are you okay? did i upset you before?"

he'd like to say he's cool and casual about pulling his hand back to his chest, though it does read slightly wolverine, same to the froth behind either eye as they take to naegi's concern aimed his way, stained glass ireland summer, best friend best friend best man behind them in a glimpse of lilac satin. but a pull back, quick quick, since daydreaming about marriage whilst only on a first date is mary janes clicking on the playground pavement, though he supposes just the same is it salacious to have a tongue in his mouth with just one night's together. alone, that's alright, alone atop his den's rich white velvet, champagne on the lips that soothe, a lifetime of forevers in waiting, craving. perhaps naegi will have to explain the hickies on the neck at work the next morning, but that isn't his problem and for now now now, it's only them to touch and lust as so pleased.

naegi runs a hand down shoulder to forearm, brings the other to clasp behind the nape, wherein he'll feel diamonds to quell its sting a year or two over should his flush be royal, for now unites them sweeter in melody's lush. glory.

"you have the most beautiful eyes in the world," he's told so gentle following tenderness. how...banal a detail to poke. quite kindly could it be that they're here at all for pressure pin prick in form of red rose thorns left for him a midweek gift, no reason, pure sweetness, hides the bandages on every other finger in his pinched laughter. naegi is only ever the most delightful creature to crawl within his palms, even with the compliments he doesn't need, even with the gifts that leave shriveled petals along his paperwork, even with the smear of soy sauce on the side of a lip. it's dark in that sunset, though still rest around them that dozen of no names, so he's courteous in untucking the handkerchief from his pocket to thrust forward at him. the recipient stiffens to curiosity, accepts it, must likewise take it as enough of an answer, for togami does not waste time to placate the worries of those wondering after him so uselessly. is he okay- one hundred times magnified, oh, he's the king of the castle, don't you know?

andou ruruka has her boyfriend in a corner with a cookie connecting his lips to her finger. perhaps he'll go back to the resentment found in such ease in his youth. he'll hate what he can't have, that's the logic he's since left behind alongside petulance, because he needn't it when he so rules everything- or or, no, he's sleek suited early twenties togami who knows himself better beyond a slave to strength training he was told to be. and it's the fault of the kerchief dabbing soy from skin, right, goes to be handed back as easy as one would gift their mother back a snot filled kleenex, and togami tuts into stuffing the cloth into a side pocket and accepting gratitude on the ears. he'll hate him, that's it. he'll hate the way his face will glow beneath the june moonlight once the jeweler's box pulls from that same pocket, where it sits quite practically searing a hole in the thousand thread material on their watching of the pond ripples below the bridge supporting them.

fingers grasp naegi's hood enough to keep him from upending himself over the railing, to which he's frazzled a touch before reality hits him with snickering, told whatever fish he'd seen shimmy by hadn't been worth seeing enough to become one himself. togami tucks the logic behind an ear, hopes it doesn't drip ink on his shoulder in time. but time, that's what's against him most rough. he leaves that life saving touch to play within the future housing armani hip. it isn't that he's shy. it isn't that he's had it wrong.

they're sitting on the dimmed white velvet of his living room, a tuesday in the week, a tuesday they both have off work and house clothes are cotton and leftovers are heated. naegi leans forward toward his lunch on the coffee table, though the styrofoam beckons him not so near as the show behind the television screen. he's been wanting to catch up on it, but the world's been ending a little, so he hasn't had much time as of recent. nonsense reflects in the world's most beautiful eyes. naegi loses himself into a sudden fit, chopsticks dropped and middle doubled, laughing so deeply into a duck of his head that tears nuzzle the waterlines once it comes back up a hot minute past. so stupidly wide is his mouth, turned to the other in an _attempt_ , attempt to tell him, jeez, did you see that? byakuya, byakuya? something of the sort, all garbled into a wavering of the teeth around more giggling, and togami had finished what he'd like of his meal ten minutes ago, and his jogging pants (cut the throat of any other to see him in those) have a pocket to be reached into, too, leaves the room in purity once the ring box is set open to the table for sight to gather. naegi breathes against the post hysteria (and perhaps togami should have waited to assure he's in no need of emergency inhaler before setting off another wave of lung taut emotion, but, how does it go now, fuck it?) to gaze at the mouth watering carats, and neither meet looks and neither say anything until he's tied himself into a fit of grinning. arms tangle over his shoulders and palms meet waist as mouths play the same. he supposes he can take that as a yes. he supposes he'll have to love him now, supposes he has much longer than either could know, strings all cleaned to unknotted when he's with him, even if the union is shrouded in a perimeter of their subordinates.

(fourteen is the biggest number, that means they win).

togami clenches midnight in his foresight. he's tired of _entertaining_ , upholding that precious metal mindset, and naegi standing so close beside him doesn't help his lax. or, well, it very well must be, but at the same time as he soothes does he shatter, and it makes no sense to an outsider who's never before been caught between the tongs of a crush, barely can be deciphered by his own mind. how ugly. it's hot in here with so many filthy breathing mouths.

and all at once sensation is thieved from him in naegi's focus caught by another, another hand to conceal furtive whispering, and asahina is the dopiest cupid in her pointing over a ways to the mousy mask-face again and next over to kirigiri, absent in her solitude cast along no present horizon. naegi stares a matching level idle, breaks into a tiny smirking to nod at her beam. togami watches her prance off and fill either palm with a mismatched glove within the minute. he could scoff. but he won't. because naegi's looking at him now. _him_.

"...you like roses, right?" he's asked, "red ones?"

he likes hard drinking and victory, that's what he likes. fingers pad his lenses to lift. "i can't imagine where you've pulled that topic from."

naegi can only smile. "well, we're not allowed to talk about work. it's hard to think of anything else."

a wise hue tightens his lips. "so twenty questions it is, then." though it is laced in mocking, he hasn't a better place to be, not here and now in his very own home where he's forced to play pedestrian. palms cup the elbows. "i'll bite. tell me about your favorite show."

"oh, it's super funny," says the hand that waves modestly his grin. sure, must be.

togami breathes in sugar and honey, remembers just exactly what he'll do someday.


End file.
